Ale is Safer Than Water

“Ale is safer than water,” the abbey‘s littlest nun said out loud to no one, while admiring the luminous gold hue and the rising foam from the ale she had poured into her cup. Her abbess’s most recent scolding rushed to her memory.

“While I commend your dedication, Little Sister Agnes, I must caution against overindulgence in drink,” Abbess Elinor had scolded. “You are, after all only nine years old, the youngest in the nunnery.”

“Bah!” she grumbled, sticking out her tongue and letting out a loud hiccup. “The village officer is dead. So are all the judges. Besides, I… *hic!*… survived prison once already.”

Agnes’s cheeks turned all rosy and her smile loosened even more. She dipped the cup again in the large copper kettle and gulped it down with both hands. The cup covered her entire face.

*Hiiiic!*

”This is the greatest bev-rage known to man,” she slurred. “And it keeps going to waste. This is the real sacrilege, if you ask me.”

The bells tolled heavily from the tower, almost shaking the small cloister brewery’s foundation. Initially startled and then immediately annoyed, Agnes dropped the cup on the wet stone floor. She then straightened her habit and took out her prayer book from one of the pockets.

Clearing her throat, she began to solemnly recite her prayer in Latin, on her way out the brewing room, looking like a perfectly pious little angel. While trying to not stagger.

The tiny nun soon joined a march of much taller, older sisters, all dressed in white and black, just like her, and holding candles while chanting their Vespers on their way to the chapel, just across the wide gothic abbey courtyard.

Agnes tried her best to keep pace, cleverly downplaying her tipsy state. Only once did she slightly sway.

Well, twice.

And it would have gone mercifully unnoticed too, had she also not missed the sequence and very loudly began the Magnificat, when the rest of the congregation was still in the middle of the Responsory.

Abbess Elinor shot her a stern look, and Agnes knew that would mean another trip to the rectory later. Along with a possible ritual fast.

The other nuns remained mostly stoic at her faux pas. Only Sister Agatha spared her a sympathetic smile.

Kind Sister Agatha! She never once wasted a single opportunity to categorically express how cute little Sister Agnes was to her. At least, this time, Agnes was standing far enough away to not have her cheeks lovingly squeezed after her unforgivable transgression.

Sister Margaret, on the other hand, didn’t find Agnes the least bit endearing. And the young nun didn’t spare the opportunity to express her disdain. Yet, right in the middle of her most disapproving look, something distracted her.

Something shiny.

Sister Margaret turned to tap the shoulder and shake the habit of the nun towering right behind Agnes, in a panic.

”Magdalene, Magdalene! Ptss! Look! Look! He’s back!”

Both Sisters Magdalene, Margaret, (and now, nosy Agnes) turned their heads towards the chapel pews, right past the barrier of iron grille that kept the cloistered Benedictine Sisters of Saint Catherine away from the rest of the chapel…and from the rest of the world.

It was tough to make out at first, but a mysterious and manly silhouette became noticeable past the candles that burned steadily in an attempt to purify the air. The faint outline of metal became visible by the flickers.

A lone knight, in full armor with the distinctive square Templar-crossed helmet, knelt silently in the last pew. Head down.

“It’s been a month. I thought he died,” Sister Magdalene whispered to Sister Margaret, both nuns squeezing together to speak in secret…while oblivious to the fact that they were crushing little Agnes between them.

”So did I,” said Sister Margaret. “What with the campaigns down south going so badly.”

”I don’t know a single army who would enlist a knight wearing the cross of the Templars these days. Pitiful wretch.”

”Before you squander mercy, there’s a rumor that he’s here because he’s pining for one of the postulants,” Margaret speculated. “I’m certain of it.”

”Oh, I don’t doubt it. When every family two villages over is sending us their daughters, vocation or not. Slothful flirts the lot of them,” Magdalene agreed.

They both giggled maliciously, still ignoring the tiny nun pancaked between them.

“Gossip is a particular grave sin during Pentecost, you both should be ashamed of yourselves…!” Sister Agatha chastised, also in a whisper. “Not only that, you are crushing Little Sister Agnes, while being less than exemplary! Come here. Come, come, little one.”

At this point, Agnes felt relieved Sister Agatha had grabbed her by the hand to yank her out from between the gossiping nuns so she could catch her breath.

Agatha then helped adjust the tiny nun’s wrinkled little veil before giving her a patronizing pat on the head. Short of pushing her hand away, Agnes tried to hide her annoyance and regained focus on the prayer book.

After all the distractions, the Intercessions proceeded as normal.

First, a prayer for the travelers.

“Domine, custodi viatores” their abbess called out.

“Custodi eos, Domine,” the sisters replied.

Then, came the prayer for the knights.

”Domine, custodi milites.”

”Custodi eos, Domine,” was their solemn response.

Then, a newly added petition:

“Domine, libera nos a magna peste.”

“Libera nos, Domine…”

But just as the Abbess Elinor moved on to chant the next petition, one lone, gasping prayer grew louder from somewhere in the back of the choir.

“Libera nos a magna peste…Libera nos a magna peste…”

All heads turned towards the voice.

“Sister Beatrice?”

But the young blonde novice’s cheeks were flushed with a furious crimson color, while her hands clutched her small prayer book.

”A magna peste… a magna peste…”

Over and over, the flustered nun repeated those words, as tears began to fall. Faster and faster she chanted, until she ran out of breath, and eventually collapsed on the stone floor where she loudly sobbed.

All prayer ceased right then and there. Even the penitent knight looked up from the chapel pew on the other side of the grille.

The sisters standing next to the distressed nun attempted to get her back on her feet. Even gossiping Margaret and judgemental Magdalene rushed over to assist. But before she, too, could rush over, Agnes felt her little hand held back.

“Don’t fret, little Agnes,” Sister Agatha whispered, yanking Agnes right back. “We just received word an hour ago. The baby brother succumbed too. Poor Sister Beatrice has lost her entire family.”

One single nod from Abbess Elinor was enough to silence Sister Agatha’s talking and have Sister Beatrice immediately removed from the room.

Yet her sobs could still be heard after prayer resumed.

Prayers at length concluded, and Agnes was the last out of the room left to blow out the candles. She managed to do so, despite her tipsiness. Once the stone chapel was in darkness again, Agnes looked over at the other side, beyond the iron bars. The last pew was now empty. The lone Templar knight was gone.

Out in the burgundy-rose infested courtyard corridors, evening chants echoed as the sisters made their solemn processional along the cloister walk to their dormitory cells for the night. Agnes followed them, at first.

Then, she took the detour and headed to the orchard instead.

Running.

By the time she arrived, she was panting. Her nostrils were flaring and her hot forehead steamed against the cool, spring wind that shook the trees and swayed the bushes of the convent’s orchard. Agnes hated showing anger in public. Her furrowed brow and pressed lips always made everyone else squeal from abject cuteness. She much preferred to rage in private.

But that’s when she saw it.

Him.

A majestically massive black stag stood at the far end of the orchard, nearest to the forest. It just stood there, casually grazing. Then, it met eyes with Agnes and stopped.

“Why are you here?” She reproached angrily.

But he offered no answer.

“You said it would work. You swore it. But then the baby died anyway.”

Her eyes welled up with wrathful tears, so she brusquely wiped them away. Then her nose began to leak, so she sniffed and wiped that too with the oversized sleeves of her habit.

“Do you hear me?!“ she said. “She has no one left now.”

But the magnificent and stately beast’s eyes remained unrelenting.

”You’ve nothing to say today?” Agnes demanded, furious at having to wipe her runny nose again. She hiccuped. “Answer me, you!”

She then picked up a large brick and got in position to hurl it.

”Abbess Elinor wants to see you in the rectory.”

The little nun didn’t turn around immediately to answer Vicaress Cecily’s order.

“Now, Sister Agnes.”

She had no choice but to drop the brick with a sigh.

The stag kept its eyes on the little nun until she was gone, then continued to graze at his leisure.